Cold Feet
by Mongie
Summary: Mimi comes up to the loft early. Roger is focused on songwriting. Mimi has cold feet. Set during Rent, sometime around New Years probably. Oneshot.


**Wrote this for Challenge 175 at speedrent. It's short and fluffy.**

** Rent isn't mine

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Mimi pulled open the big metal door and poked her head into the loft. Roger, sitting on the couch with his guitar on his lap and a notebook on the armrest, looked up and smiled. "Hey, didn't think you'd be by for a while yet."

Mimi walked the rest of the way inside and shoved the door shut behind her. "Angel and I were window shopping, and it started to snow, so we came back, and I don't have to work tonight." She smiled and walked around the back of the couch, leaning over him to see what he was writing. The page was covered in tiny, mostly illegible scribbles and drawings. "How's the song coming?"

Roger's smile vanished. He dropped the pen he held onto the notebook and ran a hand through his hair. "It just won't…come together. Everything feels wrong, and I can't figure out how to fix it. I feel like I'm almost there…if I just work at it a little more." He glared at the notebook.

Mimi ran her hands over his shoulders, kneading slightly to get rid of the tension knotting them. She knew this mood. Roger might have been jarred into awareness by her entrance, but he would be focused completely on the music in a matter of minutes, especially since she'd asked him about it. The intense focus he had was one of the things she loved about him. She patted his shoulder and walked towards his room. "I'm going to grab one of your shirts, baby, I'll be right back," she called back to him. Roger mumbled something unintelligible in response, already trying new variations on his guitar.

Mimi smiled tolerantly and grabbed his oversized pullover from a pile beside his bed. It was old, and god knew how long it had been since it had been washed, but it was warm, and it smelled like Roger. She pulled it over her head as she walked back out into the main room. She had wanted to just snuggle with Roger for a while, maybe leading up to some sex, but that wasn't going to happen for a least an hour now, from the looks of things.

She didn't have anything better to do though, so she curled up on the opposite end of the couch from Roger. She wanted to rip the guitar from his hands and wrap herself around him until she got a little warmer, but that would only lead to an argument. He would get frustrated in a while anyway, and be ready to pay attention to her.

She wrapped herself tighter in Roger's shirt and wished the wind hadn't been so cold today. It had seemed to go right through her jacket, and she and Angel had been forced to cut their expedition short. She glanced out the window, saw it was snowing even harder, and shivered. Her feet were freezing too—her last pair of clean socks had gotten soaked in the snow, so she tucked them between the threadbare cushions to attempt to warm them up. She turned from to window to study Roger.

Roger hadn't even looked up as she'd sat down, and now he was playing a few notes, chewing on the pen at the same time. Mimi's lips quirked up into a small smile. He was cute when he was focusing. He didn't seem to notice how chilly it was in the loft either, even though he was wearing a sleeveless shirt.

Mimi drew one foot out of the cushions and carefully rested it against Roger's thigh. It was warmer than the scratchy cushions, so she put her other foot beside the first, curling her bare toes against him. Roger didn't acknowledge the touch in any way.

Mimi settled back, prepared to doze a little until Roger was finished, but her eyes popped open a minute or two later. Half of her feet warmed by Roger's heat, but her toes and the tops were still cold.

There was a gap in the back of Roger's shirt, and Mimi eyed it speculatively. If his thigh was warm, his side and back would be warmer. With a wicked smile she slipped her feet inside of his shirt and settled them against his warm side.

Roger gasped and fell halfway off the couch, his guitar almost sliding onto the floor, and he had to catch himself against the armrest to keep from following it. He hauled himself back into place and turned to look at her incredulously. "Jesus, warn a guy before you do that Mimi!"

"My feet are cold," she said unrepentantly, still pressing her feet firmly against his skin. He was radiating heat like it was summer, instead of the middle of winter.

"I'll say," he muttered. He set his guitar carefully on the table in front of him, and then reached around and drew her feet into his lap. Mimi sighed appreciatively as he began to warm them with his hands. "They're like blocks of ice. Don't you have any socks? Or slippers?"

"My socks are all dirty, and I've never owned slippers," she informed him, "Besides, not having slippers has worked out nice for me." She pulled her feet out of his grasp and crawled into his lap. She smiled coyly, "My feet are warm and you're paying attention to more than your guitar…" She kissed him, shoving his notebook off the arm of the couch, pleased when he didn't even notice or object.


End file.
